


They Really Shouldn't Be Paying Me For This

by Giveadogabone



Series: They Really Shouldn't Be Paying Me For This [1]
Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Genre: Angst, Creepy Fluff, F/F, Fluff and Angst, POV Second Person, Possibly Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 20:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10369116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Giveadogabone/pseuds/Giveadogabone
Summary: A brief peek into the mind of Stacey McGill once a year for four years, regarding her favorite babysitting charge.





	

You're twelve. You've just moved from New York City to a little town called Stoneybrook, and you've got your first babysitting job, watching an eight-year-old named Charlotte. And it's amazing. Everything goes so smoothly. You've heard all the nightmare stories of difficult sitting jobs. Rebellious kids, constant messes to clean, ect ect. This one bears no resemblance whatsoever. She looks at you like you're Superman come to life, with a hero worship like you've never seen before. She's got a million questions, but you don't mind at all. It's very flattering, and you can't help but feel pleased that someone appreciates you like this. You spend almost the entire time talking about yourself, and the hours fly by. It's just a bit disappointing when her parents walk through the door. You're preparing to leave, and the wallet comes out. As you accept the money, the thought crossing your mind is: They shouldn't be paying me for this.

You're thirteen. She's nine, now. You've been her primary babysitter for an entire year. At least once a week, sometimes more often. It's never felt like a burden. It's far more like hanging out with a friend than like a job. A friend who really, really looks up to you. You're into fashion, and whatever you're into, she's into, so you spend the day dolling her up. It's easy and pleasurable, with such a beautiful subject to work with, even though her age restricts your options. Very light on the makeup, or she'll come off like a clown. Restrain yourself on the accessories, Stacey, or the effect will be too gaudy. And as you finish and take a look at your work, with a tear in your eye, you think that she's ready for the runway, that she would win any beauty contest she entered, and: They really shouldn't be paying me for this. 

You're fourteen. It's her tenth birthday. Her parents are throwing her a party, of course. She's invited all her classmates, but she's a shy child who does not make friends easily. She has three good friends that she expects to be there, but it's unlikely that anyone else will show up. You got a call from her parents, asking you to come help chaperone the party, just in case they get more kids than expected. They offer triple your normal rate. You accepted. How could you not? The money wasn't a necessary incentive (though you don't turn it down), and hasn't been for a long time, maybe since the beginning. You just like being with her. As sad as it is when all three of her good friends call to let her know they can't make it, due to various family emergencies, she's not too broken up about it. If anything, she seems happy it's just the two of you, hanging out like usual, except now you have a gift for her. The joy on her face as she opens it up is worth so much more to you than the three months of babysitting money you spent on it, and the hug that turns into an hour-long cuddle session is worth even more than that. As you sit there curled up on the couch with the person who has become the most precious in the world to you, you contemplate how soon the night will end and you'll go home with triple your normal salary, and you think: They really, really shouldn't be paying me for this.

You're fifteen. She's eleven. It's all very strange now, if you really think about it, even though it seems perfectly normal. Your babysitting club broke up long ago, and you quit babysitting for anyone but her at that same time. As for her...she hasn't actually needed a babysitter since the first time you met her. She's always been perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Eleven is old enough that she could be babysitting other kids. Nevertheless, you don't even contemplate turning down the job whenever her parents call you to watch her. You're full of fear these days. Each moment spent away from their house, you fear that the last job you did for them was the last job, that they've finally realized what you've always known, that she doesn't need you. Then, when you get the call for the next job, that fear is always replaced by the other one. That you'll lose control this time, that your desires will get the best of you, that you'll do something unimaginable and unforgivable to an innocent little girl. Every day, it seems, she gets more beautiful, more desirable, more alluring, more irresistible. She's passed you up in the looks department, passed and kept right on running, though she continues to look at you like you're some kind of personification of beauty and grace. Old habits die hard, you suppose. So when you're with her, you fear for her from yourself, and when you're not, you fear for her from other people, but you trust yourself more than other people, so you'd prefer to be around her all the time if you had the choice. So you accept each baby-sitting job as it comes, and you sit at the furthest end of the couch possible as the two of you watch the movie, and you pray. You pray that she won't notice all the little changes in your behavior, you pray that she won't do anything to provoke you further, because you're already at the edge of your endurance, you pray that the night will end quickly, and you pray that the night will never end. And as each job does finally end, as you leave with more and more reluctance each time, you always think: They really, really, really shouldn't be paying me for this.


End file.
